One Thing
by daisherz365
Summary: Sherlock found himself on her steps more often than he could count, but this time he hopes he gets it right for once. Sherlolly
**one thing**

 _just a little thing I wrote last week during Sherlolly Appreciation Week on tumblr. It didn't fit any prompts but it was just something that came to me one day while an Ed Sheeran song came on. Dude knows how to give me feels._

 _Hope you like it!_

 _much love,_

 _day_

He had always had the worst timing. When he came back from the dead, she was engaged. Before that, she had briefly dated a man he feared could have done something to her - twice maybe three times. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like if he could turn the clock back. A few minutes, a second or two if it would help him correct it. His mistakes, their missteps.

Then he's there standing on her doorstep, sometimes shivering from the snow or the burning sweat that's beating down his neck down his back. And she's there ever cautious but there in front of him and all of their flaws don't matter.

Sometimes he gets it right just to see her smile. To just see her look at him in that curious way that has him wanting to reach out and pull her down to where he's standing a few steps away from her. He's cautious too, of himself. Of what mistake he could make to throw what could be to the center of his world because he feels strongly about it. About her.

It makes sense to him.

She always sees him in a different way every time. Most of the time he's fumbling in his movements. In his words. It takes her back to the days when she was less outspoken and more shuttering, and shy glances. She sees him though. Sees the mirror image of someone reaching out for someone they want.

She calls his name, quietly. Sometimes she's sleepy. Other times it's catching her after a bad day - not always his fault. She can't remember a time where she hasn't really wished he wasn't there. If there was it was with good intentions. He pushed, and she pushed until one of them gave something - usually her considering she very rarely came to him.

"Molly," He replied in solemn urgency as if she was supposed to know what he needed. What he desired the most in the world.

There was always something. Tonight he was taking a step forward without saying anything more than his usual greeting of her name. Invading her space and carefully filling her senses with his arms and the small dim of weight as he leaned his body down to slip his face in the crook of her neck. It wasn't the first time he had got this close but it was the first time in a long time that she allowed him to swallow her whole and not question it.

They had too many of these near misses to count.

The "I just need this moment" he whispered against her throat was nearly lost as she pulled him inside.

He had always had the worst timing. When he came back from the dead, she was engaged. Before that, she had briefly dated a man he feared could have done something to her - twice maybe three times. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like if he could turn the clock back. A few minutes, a second or two if it would help him correct it. His mistakes, their missteps.

Then he's there standing on her doorstep, sometimes shivering from the snow or the burning sweat that's beating down his neck down his back. And she's there ever cautious but there in front of him and all of their flaws don't matter.

Sometimes he gets it right just to see her smile. To just see her look at him in that curious way that has him wanting to reach out and pull her down to where he's standing a few steps away from her. He's cautious too, of himself. Of what mistake he could make to throw what could be to the center of his world because he feels strongly about it. About her.

It makes sense to him.

She always sees him in a different way every time. Most of the time he's fumbling in his movements. In his words. It takes her back to the days when she was less outspoken and more shuttering, and shy glances. She sees him though. Sees the mirror image of someone reaching out for someone they want.

She calls his name, quietly. Sometimes she's sleepy. Other times it's catching her after a bad day - not always his fault. She can't remember a time where she hasn't really wished he wasn't there. If there was it was with good intentions. He pushed, and she pushed until one of them gave something - usually her considering she very rarely came to him.

"Molly," He replied in solemn urgency as if she was supposed to know what he needed. What he desired the most in the world.

There was always something. Tonight he was taking a step forward without saying anything more than his usual greeting of her name. Invading her space and carefully filling her senses with his arms and the small dim of weight as he leaned his body down to slip his face in the crook of her neck. It wasn't the first time he had got this close but it was the first time in a long time that she allowed him to swallow her whole and not question it.

They had too many of these near misses to count.

The "I just need this moment" he whispered against her throat was nearly lost as she pulled him inside.


End file.
